by Walt Staples -
In the silence of the chapel, the muted roar of the blowers was noticeable as they ran on “high” to handle the smoke and soot from the unusually large number of candles burning to either side of the altar. The Rite of Publication was one of the few times Brother Marius, the abbey’s life support engineer, allowed such abuse of his air-handlers.
Bede and the other Manuscripts stood shoulder to shoulder as they faced the main celebrant, Bishop Guash. The usually dyspeptic prelate actually seemed to be in fine fettle and to be greatly enjoying himself, as the occasional smile escaped his Excellency’s bulldog-jowled continence. As an acolyte on his right handed him a lit candle, he sobered. “My sons, you have been called to one of the highest callings in Mother Church—that of Bible. Know you that you carry God’s Word to and among his children—all of his children. You may not force yourself on others, but you must be ever ready to open yourself to any who wish to hear God’s Word. It is not an easy calling that you follow. The evil one has used fire in the past to try the destruction of God’s Word. This flame is to remind you of what you may be called upon to face…and what you may save souls from by your efforts.”
Each Manuscript held out his left hand. From left to right, the bishop passed the flame under the outstretched palm. Bede sucked in a breath as the flame reached Antonio, the Ignatius Manuscript on his left. His stomach muscles tightened as readied himself. He would not show a sign! Not before his parents, up from Eclectia. Not before Brother Charles Maria, his second teacher. Nor before Brother Eustis, his first teacher, who, Bede was convinced, watched from a higher plane. There was an instant of burning pain, and the flame passed on to Tommy, the James Manuscript, to his right.
Bishop Guash handed the candle to the acolyte on his left. His face broke into a huge smile. “My sons, today you are no longer Manuscripts, but are Published Bibles. From this point on, you will be known to all by your personal name, and that of your version.” He made the sign of the Cross in blessing over each of them in turn. “Go you hence and serve all.”
#
In the infirmary, Brother Kadfell, the abbey’s medico, asked, “With or without, Douay Bede?”
The Bible smiled at him. “Without, Brother.”
The other nodded. “As you wish.” He set the hypo to dispense the first-aid spray without its anesthetic component and sprayed Bede’s blistered palm. The choice of each newly Published Bible was a secret Brother Kadfell would keep. It was a choice that by tradition was not discussed with anyone.
Outside the infirmary, Brother Charles waited for Bede with a frown. Bede took in his erstwhile teacher’s expression and his heart sank. His assignment had been decided. He had hoped to be assigned to a mission among spacers with the priest he would be paired with. From Brother Charles’ face, he knew it was bad. Probably a mining settlement on either Sheba or Quatermain. He consoled himself with the thought that if it did turn out to be Sheba, at least he could visit the abbey on occasion. He took a deep breath. “I take it that my assignment has been decided?”
Brother Charles nodded grimly. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Bede braced himself. “Where?”
Brother Charles answered in a voice of doom, “Thou art assigned to the Spacers’ Mission.”
Bede blinked. Had he heard right?
Brother Charles leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “You know, you might want to close your mouth before Hubert or one of the other cats decides to go rat hunting in there.”
It took Bede a couple of tries to get enough air to ask, “Why didn’t you just say so?”
His teacher grinned at him. “Because I was afraid you’d try to swarm up me and slobber all over me.” Putting the lie to his fears, Brother Charles threw his arms around the Bible in a bear-hug. “Congratulations, boy. You worked hard for it and you’ve earned it.” He held Bede at arms’ length. “You’ll do us proud.” He raised an admonishing finger. “But only in a proper non-Seven Deadly Sins meaning of the word. Understand?”
Bede beamed back at the big man. “Yes, Brother. I’ll remember. When and where do I go?”
Brother Charles dropped his hands and folded them within his sleeves. “The where is the Spacers’ Mission Mother House on Avenir, sort of neutral ground, as it were. The when is a couple of days from now; after all, it would be a bit rude to skip dinner with his Excellency and the rest of the abbey tonight.” He cocked his head and squinted one eye. “Besides, you left off the most important part of the question as far as your future success goes.”
The Bible raised his eyebrows. “What’s that, Brother?”
“The who. You’ve been matched with Father Oaku Mary, T.O.R.”
“What’s he like?”
His teacher shook his head. “Don’t know, really. His records look okay and he’s fresh-caught like you. His Ordination was day before yesterday. I guess you’re going to find out first-hand in a few days.” He changed the subject. “Let’s go find your folks. I suspect your mother probably wants to maul you some. I hear their parish priest sprung for their fare?”
“Yes, bugherds don’t make a lot, so Father Mack came up with it. Said only that it had to do with a penance.” They turned the corner.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Meeting at Maddie's
by Kaye Jeffreys -
Gritty wind is hard to breathe, even through a face mask. And boots are heavy to walk in. In fact, you don't really walk in them. It is more of a trudge. And Jereth trudged down the street in Adagio. Once he arrived at the pub he pushed against the heavy door and went in.
"Shut the door," some lady called from behind the counter. That must be Maddie.
Jereth did as she said then moved the goggles from his eyes to his forehead and removed the mask from his nose and mouth.
A man at one of the tables stared at him. Jareth turned away and found his own table. The man was familiar but Jereth didn't take a second look.
The man got up, threw a coin onto the counter and left.
Jereth didn't sit for long. The door opened again and two people walked in. Lessie spotted him immediately, "Jereth!" she ran to him and gave him one of her famous bug hugs.
Her eyes were red and her face smudged, just like everyone he'd seen landside. "I can't believe you are here. I'm so glad to see you."
Jereth smiled. "It's good to see you." Then he turned to Carter and extended his hand, "And you too."
"Jereth." Carter shook his hand but kept a guarded expression.
Lessie put her hands on her hips. "You better have a good reason for abandoning the cat I gave you."
"Neenah? She likes my brother way better than me." Jereth pulled out a chair for Lessie.
Lessie sat. "Yeah, right. Jereth, you look great."
"I wish I could say the same about you." Jereth motioned for Carter to sit by Lessie.
"After a while you'll look like us. Are you ready to get grit in your eyes and nose?"
"I already have it in my teeth." He wasn't kidding.
Lessie laughed. "That will teach you to keep you mouth shut when you breathe."
Then it hit him. He remembered who the man was.
"What is it?" Lessie put her hand on Jereth's arm.
"Nothing." Jereth glanced at the table where Jax sat moments ago.
"Liar. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Maybe I did. Some guy I know from Avenir was in here."
"So?"
"So, he's supposed to be dead."
Lessie shrugged. "Probably just someone down here who looks like him."
"Probably." Jereth grimaced. Too bad he wasn't smart enough to fake his own death. Then he wouldn't be looking over his shoulder for his father's thugs.
Gritty wind is hard to breathe, even through a face mask. And boots are heavy to walk in. In fact, you don't really walk in them. It is more of a trudge. And Jereth trudged down the street in Adagio. Once he arrived at the pub he pushed against the heavy door and went in.
"Shut the door," some lady called from behind the counter. That must be Maddie.
Jereth did as she said then moved the goggles from his eyes to his forehead and removed the mask from his nose and mouth.
A man at one of the tables stared at him. Jareth turned away and found his own table. The man was familiar but Jereth didn't take a second look.
The man got up, threw a coin onto the counter and left.
Jereth didn't sit for long. The door opened again and two people walked in. Lessie spotted him immediately, "Jereth!" she ran to him and gave him one of her famous bug hugs.
Her eyes were red and her face smudged, just like everyone he'd seen landside. "I can't believe you are here. I'm so glad to see you."
Jereth smiled. "It's good to see you." Then he turned to Carter and extended his hand, "And you too."
"Jereth." Carter shook his hand but kept a guarded expression.
Lessie put her hands on her hips. "You better have a good reason for abandoning the cat I gave you."
"Neenah? She likes my brother way better than me." Jereth pulled out a chair for Lessie.
Lessie sat. "Yeah, right. Jereth, you look great."
"I wish I could say the same about you." Jereth motioned for Carter to sit by Lessie.
"After a while you'll look like us. Are you ready to get grit in your eyes and nose?"
"I already have it in my teeth." He wasn't kidding.
Lessie laughed. "That will teach you to keep you mouth shut when you breathe."
Then it hit him. He remembered who the man was.
"What is it?" Lessie put her hand on Jereth's arm.
"Nothing." Jereth glanced at the table where Jax sat moments ago.
"Liar. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Maybe I did. Some guy I know from Avenir was in here."
"So?"
"So, he's supposed to be dead."
Lessie shrugged. "Probably just someone down here who looks like him."
"Probably." Jereth grimaced. Too bad he wasn't smart enough to fake his own death. Then he wouldn't be looking over his shoulder for his father's thugs.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Ale O’Clock
by Grace Bridges -
Eleon McManus loped through the lush open area of Zirconia’s sector B3. The curved window to his right formed a sky beyond, which glimmered with occasional schools of fish in the murk.
Passing a fruit tree, he longed to snag an orange. But these plants passed down from Earth were too rare, and he didn’t want the Enforcers to chuck him in the slammer, not when he had some time off tomorrow.
He slipped through the last of this sector’s forest and reached the stairs to the residential pods that overlooked it. After climbing up to the third level, he swung onto the walkway that rattled with his steps. He paused a moment, then raised his hand to a buzzer.
Half a minute later, the door unsealed with a whoosh and Gryphon Sylt looked out. “Mac! Sight for sore eyes. Come in!”
Eleon passed through the thick rubber-rimmed frame into his friend’s abode. “How’s life, Sylt?” He peered at the other man’s haggard face. “What’s going on?”
Gryphon shrugged, a wild, flailing maneuvre. “System’s down again. All the history’s inaccessible. And I have no apprentice to help write down what’s in my head.”
“Can’t the system be fixed?”
“It’s not graded as essential. There’s not enough spare manpower from the IT department.”
Eleon didn’t know what to respond, so he wandered to Gryphon’s kitchenette and poured two lavabush ales from the plastic barrel in the coolstore.
Gryphon sighed. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe it doesn’t matter, as long as we survive.”
Eleon pushed a glass into his hand. “We’ll lose our identity if we don’t remember where we came from.”
“Oh, I’m writing down what I can, never fear. It’s not a lost cause. Only almost.”
“Well then.” Eleon lifted his drink and the two clinked together. He took a sip and grimaced at the slightly bitter taste. “Here’s to happy writing!”
Eleon McManus loped through the lush open area of Zirconia’s sector B3. The curved window to his right formed a sky beyond, which glimmered with occasional schools of fish in the murk.
Passing a fruit tree, he longed to snag an orange. But these plants passed down from Earth were too rare, and he didn’t want the Enforcers to chuck him in the slammer, not when he had some time off tomorrow.
He slipped through the last of this sector’s forest and reached the stairs to the residential pods that overlooked it. After climbing up to the third level, he swung onto the walkway that rattled with his steps. He paused a moment, then raised his hand to a buzzer.
Half a minute later, the door unsealed with a whoosh and Gryphon Sylt looked out. “Mac! Sight for sore eyes. Come in!”
Eleon passed through the thick rubber-rimmed frame into his friend’s abode. “How’s life, Sylt?” He peered at the other man’s haggard face. “What’s going on?”
Gryphon shrugged, a wild, flailing maneuvre. “System’s down again. All the history’s inaccessible. And I have no apprentice to help write down what’s in my head.”
“Can’t the system be fixed?”
“It’s not graded as essential. There’s not enough spare manpower from the IT department.”
Eleon didn’t know what to respond, so he wandered to Gryphon’s kitchenette and poured two lavabush ales from the plastic barrel in the coolstore.
Gryphon sighed. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe it doesn’t matter, as long as we survive.”
Eleon pushed a glass into his hand. “We’ll lose our identity if we don’t remember where we came from.”
“Oh, I’m writing down what I can, never fear. It’s not a lost cause. Only almost.”
“Well then.” Eleon lifted his drink and the two clinked together. He took a sip and grimaced at the slightly bitter taste. “Here’s to happy writing!”
Friday, October 21, 2011
Alive
by Kat Heckenbach -
Mary leaned over the rail of the crib and kissed Jacey’s tiny forehead. The peach fuzz along the baby’s hairline clung to her skin, damp with sweat, but her angelic face was completely relaxed.
“If only your daddy could have seen you.” Mary gazed at Jacey in wonderment over the features that looked so much like Jax. A perfect replica, even down to the arch of her eyebrows and the dimple that played in and out on her left cheek as she smiled in her sleep.
She sighed and left the room. The kids would be home any minute and she hadn’t even figured out what to cook for dinner. Granted, having an old friend stop by had been a worthy excuse. She smiled as she sorted through the conversation she’d had with Tomika, recalling how good it had felt to talk to someone about Jax without feeling like “the criminal’s widow.”
As she walked across the living area, chill air hit her skin. She stepped toward the environmental control panel next to her bedroom door, but as her gaze passed the open doorway she froze. Something silvery glinted on her nightstand.
What is that?
She crept into the bedroom, chills running up her arms. Atop her journal lay a triangular piece of metal. It looked like a knife.
No, as she got closer she realized it was too wide to be a knife and had no real handle, but it looked deadly sharp. She reached the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed, tears burning her eyes as she read the word “Mary” carved into the metal in Jax’s signature scrawl.
Jax…
She slid from the edge of the bed and landed on her knees, her hips sinking until she was sitting on her heels. Her hands found their way into her bangs and her torso rocked back, forth, back, forth, tears streaming her cheeks and dripping from her chin.
Jax….Oh, God, thank you…
#
The door to Maddie’s pub slammed behind Jax as he exited. His head swam from too much ale. It had been an unusually good haul today—but as his dust-encrusted boot caught on a rock and he stumbled to regain his balance, he wondered if maybe he’d celebrated a little too hard. But celebrations were something that came few and far between for him. Most days he was happy just to be alive.
Mary leaned over the rail of the crib and kissed Jacey’s tiny forehead. The peach fuzz along the baby’s hairline clung to her skin, damp with sweat, but her angelic face was completely relaxed.
“If only your daddy could have seen you.” Mary gazed at Jacey in wonderment over the features that looked so much like Jax. A perfect replica, even down to the arch of her eyebrows and the dimple that played in and out on her left cheek as she smiled in her sleep.
She sighed and left the room. The kids would be home any minute and she hadn’t even figured out what to cook for dinner. Granted, having an old friend stop by had been a worthy excuse. She smiled as she sorted through the conversation she’d had with Tomika, recalling how good it had felt to talk to someone about Jax without feeling like “the criminal’s widow.”
As she walked across the living area, chill air hit her skin. She stepped toward the environmental control panel next to her bedroom door, but as her gaze passed the open doorway she froze. Something silvery glinted on her nightstand.
What is that?
She crept into the bedroom, chills running up her arms. Atop her journal lay a triangular piece of metal. It looked like a knife.
No, as she got closer she realized it was too wide to be a knife and had no real handle, but it looked deadly sharp. She reached the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed, tears burning her eyes as she read the word “Mary” carved into the metal in Jax’s signature scrawl.
Jax…
She slid from the edge of the bed and landed on her knees, her hips sinking until she was sitting on her heels. Her hands found their way into her bangs and her torso rocked back, forth, back, forth, tears streaming her cheeks and dripping from her chin.
Jax….Oh, God, thank you…
#
The door to Maddie’s pub slammed behind Jax as he exited. His head swam from too much ale. It had been an unusually good haul today—but as his dust-encrusted boot caught on a rock and he stumbled to regain his balance, he wondered if maybe he’d celebrated a little too hard. But celebrations were something that came few and far between for him. Most days he was happy just to be alive.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Delivery
by Travis Perry -
The job the old man gave him to do was ridiculously simple. Pick up some a container of special material, no questions asked. Show the forged papers on the way out of the mail hub and as needed on the way back, delivering the package straight to the angel’s chamber.
It was so simple and trivial Ernsto could barely believe he’d been assigned to the task. Hobson might as well have sent one of the cyborgs for something like this. But a lot of the work he’d done for Wizard Hobson in his weeks on Avenir belonged to that category. Trivial, but well-paid. As if he wants me around, even though he’s got nothin’ for me to do…which made absolutely no sense.
The job went off without a hitch, as expected, except after he rode the stainless steel cargo lift up to the executive level. The governor’s staterooms lay off to the left and other ministers had quarters to the right (Hobson served as Minster of Ethics, of all things). Ernsto showed his papers to the enforcer at the elevator and carried the box made out of processed bugshell toward Hobson’s. Before he’d gotten more than ten paces from the checkpoint, he heard the elevator open again and a young voice behind him.
“You there, do I know you?”
He turned around with deliberate slowness. Behind him stood a fresh-faced enforcer with a crisp new uniform, with the silver emblem on the right side indicating Governor’s Service. His name tag said “Salsar.”
“Don’t think so,” answered Ernsto slowly. Moving slow was always a good way to face a lawman for the first time. It tended to put ‘em at ease…
“Your face looks familiar,” said the enforcer.
“I get a lot of that. I resemble Stensin, governor before last.”
The enforcer squinted at him, visibly wondering if that were the reason. “Your papers, please.”
He showed the forms and studied the face of the young enforcer examining them. This one showed no signs of bullying—a true believer in the occupation of law enforcement. Would almost be a shame to kill him.
“Everything seems correct. Please pardon my interruption, Mr. Jons.”
“No trouble at all, officer,” he answered.
Within moments he’d passed by Nasir and Rolf at the door, who still resented the way the old man treated him better than them. Once past the entry the sense of terror and distress stabbed at him, like knives in his eyes. The angel’s distress pierced him. He barely realized that his pace picked up—he nearly ran into the angel’s chamber.
Hobson, assisted by a pair of cyborgs, used multiple manipulator arms within the pressurized tank to press the angel down to the tank floor, while ratcheting down straps of some kind tight into her flesh.
“Ernsto, dear boy!” The wizard’s smile spread his mouth wide, but his eyes were dead and lifeless. “Bring the package here, my lad.”
Ernsto found himself stepping forward.
The job the old man gave him to do was ridiculously simple. Pick up some a container of special material, no questions asked. Show the forged papers on the way out of the mail hub and as needed on the way back, delivering the package straight to the angel’s chamber.
It was so simple and trivial Ernsto could barely believe he’d been assigned to the task. Hobson might as well have sent one of the cyborgs for something like this. But a lot of the work he’d done for Wizard Hobson in his weeks on Avenir belonged to that category. Trivial, but well-paid. As if he wants me around, even though he’s got nothin’ for me to do…which made absolutely no sense.
The job went off without a hitch, as expected, except after he rode the stainless steel cargo lift up to the executive level. The governor’s staterooms lay off to the left and other ministers had quarters to the right (Hobson served as Minster of Ethics, of all things). Ernsto showed his papers to the enforcer at the elevator and carried the box made out of processed bugshell toward Hobson’s. Before he’d gotten more than ten paces from the checkpoint, he heard the elevator open again and a young voice behind him.
“You there, do I know you?”
He turned around with deliberate slowness. Behind him stood a fresh-faced enforcer with a crisp new uniform, with the silver emblem on the right side indicating Governor’s Service. His name tag said “Salsar.”
“Don’t think so,” answered Ernsto slowly. Moving slow was always a good way to face a lawman for the first time. It tended to put ‘em at ease…
“Your face looks familiar,” said the enforcer.
“I get a lot of that. I resemble Stensin, governor before last.”
The enforcer squinted at him, visibly wondering if that were the reason. “Your papers, please.”
He showed the forms and studied the face of the young enforcer examining them. This one showed no signs of bullying—a true believer in the occupation of law enforcement. Would almost be a shame to kill him.
“Everything seems correct. Please pardon my interruption, Mr. Jons.”
“No trouble at all, officer,” he answered.
Within moments he’d passed by Nasir and Rolf at the door, who still resented the way the old man treated him better than them. Once past the entry the sense of terror and distress stabbed at him, like knives in his eyes. The angel’s distress pierced him. He barely realized that his pace picked up—he nearly ran into the angel’s chamber.
Hobson, assisted by a pair of cyborgs, used multiple manipulator arms within the pressurized tank to press the angel down to the tank floor, while ratcheting down straps of some kind tight into her flesh.
“Ernsto, dear boy!” The wizard’s smile spread his mouth wide, but his eyes were dead and lifeless. “Bring the package here, my lad.”
Ernsto found himself stepping forward.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Dangerous Jobs
by Kaye Jeffreys -
"Are you hungry?" Dad stood in the door of Brett's sleep cubicle. "Gordy made chicory millet soup, good for lung health."
Brett propped himself up, "It smells good. Bless Gordy."
"You can eat a little?" Dad handed Brett the metal bowl.
The soup still steamed in the warm bowl. "Food is starting to sound good."
"You gave us all a scare." Dad sat down next to Brett's bed.
The savory broth and wild vegetables tasted good and went down smooth.
Dad stroked his chin. "Kellie doesn't look like she's taking it well. She looks worse than you do."
"She told me she's not burying another husband. I'm not allowed to die before her." Brett saluted like he was an Enforcer.
Dad saluted back, showing his white teeth in a mirthful smile. "Like we have that much control."
"I told her that I'd be ready to go up to the Rims soon."
"The Clinic lady said it would take time."
"Don't listen to Lessie. She's from undersea and doesn't know how things work up here." Brett shook his head as he remembered the scolding he got from Lessie in the circuit office.
Dad leaned forward. "This time I'm listening."
"But Madame Bleu was showing off for us. Did you see the fountain she shot up?" Brett spread his fingers and reached for the roof of his sleeper. "She was telling us to come visit her next, that we wouldn't be sorry if we did."
"We aren't cleared to go back up yet." Dad crossed his arms and leaned back.
Brett suspended his spoon in front of his mouth. "That's right, the offering."
"Tomorrow, Reece and I will send up a flare and meet with them."
"What if they don't accept it?"
"Then we will go back to what our ancestors did."
"Hunt?" Brett's stomach became queasy. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"Playing Rim Roulette isn't dangerous?"
"It doesn't seem as dangerous as prospecting." Brett set the bowl of soup on the shelf next to his bed. He could no longer eat with the sour feeling in his gut. "Reece got in some good practice the other day with that spider."
Dad took a deep breath and covered his eyes as though he didn't want to see something. "Reece got lucky. He saw the spider first."
"Are you hungry?" Dad stood in the door of Brett's sleep cubicle. "Gordy made chicory millet soup, good for lung health."
Brett propped himself up, "It smells good. Bless Gordy."
"You can eat a little?" Dad handed Brett the metal bowl.
The soup still steamed in the warm bowl. "Food is starting to sound good."
"You gave us all a scare." Dad sat down next to Brett's bed.
The savory broth and wild vegetables tasted good and went down smooth.
Dad stroked his chin. "Kellie doesn't look like she's taking it well. She looks worse than you do."
"She told me she's not burying another husband. I'm not allowed to die before her." Brett saluted like he was an Enforcer.
Dad saluted back, showing his white teeth in a mirthful smile. "Like we have that much control."
"I told her that I'd be ready to go up to the Rims soon."
"The Clinic lady said it would take time."
"Don't listen to Lessie. She's from undersea and doesn't know how things work up here." Brett shook his head as he remembered the scolding he got from Lessie in the circuit office.
Dad leaned forward. "This time I'm listening."
"But Madame Bleu was showing off for us. Did you see the fountain she shot up?" Brett spread his fingers and reached for the roof of his sleeper. "She was telling us to come visit her next, that we wouldn't be sorry if we did."
"We aren't cleared to go back up yet." Dad crossed his arms and leaned back.
Brett suspended his spoon in front of his mouth. "That's right, the offering."
"Tomorrow, Reece and I will send up a flare and meet with them."
"What if they don't accept it?"
"Then we will go back to what our ancestors did."
"Hunt?" Brett's stomach became queasy. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"Playing Rim Roulette isn't dangerous?"
"It doesn't seem as dangerous as prospecting." Brett set the bowl of soup on the shelf next to his bed. He could no longer eat with the sour feeling in his gut. "Reece got in some good practice the other day with that spider."
Dad took a deep breath and covered his eyes as though he didn't want to see something. "Reece got lucky. He saw the spider first."
Friday, October 14, 2011
Rockstars: All That Glitters
by Walt Staples
Someone once said you can tell a field geologist’s environment suit from a miner’s by the smell. While in both, sweat overpowers the other normal suit stinks—halitosis, machine oil, and urine—there’s also the whiff of erudition. Whoever said it must have been a field geologist, because it’s a cinch nobody else would.
Oolite-Head Marx and I were working the north slope of Quatermain’s core caldera. Head got his nickname from two things; his head is shaped just like an egg and his was the biggest discovery of oolitic hematite on the south caldera slope.
What’s oolitic hematite?
Look it up, Ace. That’s why you lug that computer around on your wrist, ain’t it? Can’t watch porn all the time.
Anyway, as I was saying, the two of us had been dirtside for about a five-day when we’d made camp the night before. Next morning I’m dragging my butt out of the bubble--we were carrying one-mans because we’d had to leave the hopper eight klicks back down slope while we yomped all the field equipment up to the bluffs—and there’s Head staring through the theodolite at the bluffs. Head is not a morning person so naturally I had to say, “My, getting dedicated in our old age aren’t we.”
Without turning around, he stepped to the side, gestured at the theodolite and said, “Shadup and take a look, funny man.”
I stooped down—Head’s shorter than me—and looked through the eyepiece. About 200 meters down from the edge, something gleamed in Eclectia’s bounce light. “Interesting.” I straightened up and looked at Head. “Do we set up the laser?”
The Whale was below the horizon so we didn’t have our filters down. I could see him chewing the end of that mustache of his. “We could…but if it’s noble, we just gonna put a hole in it.”
“Could be pyrite.”
He nodded. “Could be but…” He let it hang for a minute. He cocked his head and squinted one eye. “Just don’t feel right for fool’s gold.”
Head’s famous for his “feelings.” But, considering he’s right about 80 percent of the time, you listen to him.
With a bit of dread, I asked, “So we go down and drag the laser back up here?”
Head put his fists on his hips and looked at the ground for a moment. Then he looked back up at me. “I’m agin it for the same reason you are, Roy. I’m just as lazy as you are an’ it’ll blow the whole day. Though there is another way…” He leered at me through his visor.
With a prophetic sinking feeling, I knew just what he meant. I shook my head in defeat. “Yep, you did it last time. My turn again.”
#
I checked that the spider silk cable would run free and that the hoist was properly anchored. The old rock hound joke runs that if it’s not, you’re the first to know, the recovery party is the second, and the coroner is the third. I don’t buy it. The insurance types seem to show up pretty fast.
I looked over the edge. In geology, you get used to looking off heights or you go into some other line of work, like pastry chef. Head was small as he looked back up at me from the theodolite about 100 meters from the cliff base. “Okay, Roy, I’ll tell you when you’re in the crosshairs.” The Whale was up and drowning out the bounce light from Eclectia, so we left the theodolite pointed at the location of the glimmer. Head would coach me to the spot.
I pointed the laser rangefinder at the foot of the bluff. The reading came back 643.81 meters. I did a little math in my head. If the hoist has 800 meters of line and something goes wrong, that means I can still dig a 156.19 meter hole in the ground. I hate those Jernigan hoists, they kill too many people. But, when you’re just starting out…
I checked my rig and turned my back to Head. “Okay, starting down.” I swallowed and stepped off. The overhang at the top meant I was dangling about a meter and a half from the buff face on the way down. All I had to do was stop lowering when Head sang out that I was even with the spot and shoot a sample. The sampler bit is rocket powered so there’s no kick to screw up your equilibrium and set you swinging. You might get the feeling that there’re a bunch of us idiots doing this sort of thing.
I tapped the “slow release” button and fell like a stone. Like I say, I hate Jernigans. I managed to say something pithy like, “Holy--!” before the reel seized up. I hung there for Lord only knows how long, trying to talk myself into opening my eyes. Instead, I decided to try to think up some better last words. I’d gotten to “Cry not for me, beautiful maidens of…” when something slapped me on the lower leg. Head’s voice was gentle between gasps and pants in my earphones, “Roy, open your eyes. It’s okay.”
I peeked out of one, then opened the other. I was hanging maybe two meters off the ground. “How do you know my eyes were closed?” My voice sounded shaky in my ears.
I couldn’t see Head’s grin through his filter, but I could hear him still panting from the run. “Because mine would be, son.”
I climbed the rest of the way down. “Now what? That motor’s got to be burnt out.”
Head plucked a pair of ascenders from his belt. “Can’t go down, so you go up. My turn--you go watch through the theodolite.”
Anyway, that’s how Head and I made the “Crappy Jernigan Strike.” He was right, it wasn’t pyrite. The gold assayed out at 18 grams per ton. Ever since, we’ve used a Haman Hoist. Like Head says, “Hey, use the best you can afford.”
Someone once said you can tell a field geologist’s environment suit from a miner’s by the smell. While in both, sweat overpowers the other normal suit stinks—halitosis, machine oil, and urine—there’s also the whiff of erudition. Whoever said it must have been a field geologist, because it’s a cinch nobody else would.
Oolite-Head Marx and I were working the north slope of Quatermain’s core caldera. Head got his nickname from two things; his head is shaped just like an egg and his was the biggest discovery of oolitic hematite on the south caldera slope.
What’s oolitic hematite?
Look it up, Ace. That’s why you lug that computer around on your wrist, ain’t it? Can’t watch porn all the time.
Anyway, as I was saying, the two of us had been dirtside for about a five-day when we’d made camp the night before. Next morning I’m dragging my butt out of the bubble--we were carrying one-mans because we’d had to leave the hopper eight klicks back down slope while we yomped all the field equipment up to the bluffs—and there’s Head staring through the theodolite at the bluffs. Head is not a morning person so naturally I had to say, “My, getting dedicated in our old age aren’t we.”
Without turning around, he stepped to the side, gestured at the theodolite and said, “Shadup and take a look, funny man.”
I stooped down—Head’s shorter than me—and looked through the eyepiece. About 200 meters down from the edge, something gleamed in Eclectia’s bounce light. “Interesting.” I straightened up and looked at Head. “Do we set up the laser?”
The Whale was below the horizon so we didn’t have our filters down. I could see him chewing the end of that mustache of his. “We could…but if it’s noble, we just gonna put a hole in it.”
“Could be pyrite.”
He nodded. “Could be but…” He let it hang for a minute. He cocked his head and squinted one eye. “Just don’t feel right for fool’s gold.”
Head’s famous for his “feelings.” But, considering he’s right about 80 percent of the time, you listen to him.
With a bit of dread, I asked, “So we go down and drag the laser back up here?”
Head put his fists on his hips and looked at the ground for a moment. Then he looked back up at me. “I’m agin it for the same reason you are, Roy. I’m just as lazy as you are an’ it’ll blow the whole day. Though there is another way…” He leered at me through his visor.
With a prophetic sinking feeling, I knew just what he meant. I shook my head in defeat. “Yep, you did it last time. My turn again.”
#
I checked that the spider silk cable would run free and that the hoist was properly anchored. The old rock hound joke runs that if it’s not, you’re the first to know, the recovery party is the second, and the coroner is the third. I don’t buy it. The insurance types seem to show up pretty fast.
I looked over the edge. In geology, you get used to looking off heights or you go into some other line of work, like pastry chef. Head was small as he looked back up at me from the theodolite about 100 meters from the cliff base. “Okay, Roy, I’ll tell you when you’re in the crosshairs.” The Whale was up and drowning out the bounce light from Eclectia, so we left the theodolite pointed at the location of the glimmer. Head would coach me to the spot.
I pointed the laser rangefinder at the foot of the bluff. The reading came back 643.81 meters. I did a little math in my head. If the hoist has 800 meters of line and something goes wrong, that means I can still dig a 156.19 meter hole in the ground. I hate those Jernigan hoists, they kill too many people. But, when you’re just starting out…
I checked my rig and turned my back to Head. “Okay, starting down.” I swallowed and stepped off. The overhang at the top meant I was dangling about a meter and a half from the buff face on the way down. All I had to do was stop lowering when Head sang out that I was even with the spot and shoot a sample. The sampler bit is rocket powered so there’s no kick to screw up your equilibrium and set you swinging. You might get the feeling that there’re a bunch of us idiots doing this sort of thing.
I tapped the “slow release” button and fell like a stone. Like I say, I hate Jernigans. I managed to say something pithy like, “Holy--!” before the reel seized up. I hung there for Lord only knows how long, trying to talk myself into opening my eyes. Instead, I decided to try to think up some better last words. I’d gotten to “Cry not for me, beautiful maidens of…” when something slapped me on the lower leg. Head’s voice was gentle between gasps and pants in my earphones, “Roy, open your eyes. It’s okay.”
I peeked out of one, then opened the other. I was hanging maybe two meters off the ground. “How do you know my eyes were closed?” My voice sounded shaky in my ears.
I couldn’t see Head’s grin through his filter, but I could hear him still panting from the run. “Because mine would be, son.”
I climbed the rest of the way down. “Now what? That motor’s got to be burnt out.”
Head plucked a pair of ascenders from his belt. “Can’t go down, so you go up. My turn--you go watch through the theodolite.”
Anyway, that’s how Head and I made the “Crappy Jernigan Strike.” He was right, it wasn’t pyrite. The gold assayed out at 18 grams per ton. Ever since, we’ve used a Haman Hoist. Like Head says, “Hey, use the best you can afford.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)